


catch your breath

by MaliciousVegetarian



Series: Witcher Pregnancy/Baby Prompts - March [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, I cannot emphasize how medically inaccurate this enough, Implied Mpreg, Major Illness, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Medieval Medicine, Multi, Pneumonia, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaliciousVegetarian/pseuds/MaliciousVegetarian
Summary: After the birth of his daughters, Geralt falls ill.  Yennefer, Jaskier, and Nenneke do their best to help him fight.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witcher Pregnancy/Baby Prompts - March [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189178
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	catch your breath

**Author's Note:**

> Day Seven: Fever
> 
> This is medically incoherent. Please, please don't look for any kind of accuracy here.
> 
> Warnings for mpreg, near death experiences, medical procedures, and dissociation.

Geralt doesn’t stir as Yennefer pulls the blankets further over him. He looks awful, his face gray with deep patches of color in his cheeks, and papery skin. The cloth over his forehead is warm to the touch, so Yennefer removes it and dips it in the bucket next to the bed. As she replaces it, she pushes a lock of hair off of his face. Sweat has plastered it to his skull.

The fever has been raging for three days now, and every time Yennefer thinks it can’t get worse it does. It had started during labor, and only worsened after the girls had been born. He’s begun to cough, and his breathing has weakened. Yennefer and Jaskier haven’t left him alone for a moment, taking turns watching over him so the other can be with the girls.

He’d gotten sick so fast that he hasn’t been able to meet them yet. The girls are all small, one of them much smaller than the other two, but they all seem healthy and hardy, and all three came out crying. They’d been born a month early, and Nenneke has attributed their health to witcher mutagens passed on from Geralt. The theory is strengthened by their white hair, so light and fine you can barely see it.

Geralt suddenly makes a noise between coughing and choking. Yennefer pulls him farther up and begins lightly tapping his back, trying to help him clear his lungs. His breath comes in little wheezy gasps, and then suddenly, he goes limp. It takes Yennefer a moment to realize he’s not breathing.

Tapping his face gets no response. Yennefer rushes to the door, yelling for Nenneke. She knows the priestess could be anywhere in the temple complex, but someone is sure to hear her and get her. 

She returns to Geralt, tapping his face again and talking to him. After a moment, he lets out a little gasp, and the sound of his loud, uneven breathing fills the room. It sounds like a death rattle, Yennefer thinks, and then wishes she hadn’t. He looks like death, as well, his eyes seeming sunken and his lips a pale blue. Each breath seems so halting, as if it could stop at any moment.

Within minutes, an attendant Yennefer vaguely recognizes has run into the room, followed by the priestess herself. “He stopped breathing,” Yennefer hears herself saying as if from a great distance. “He came back, but . . .”

Nenneke lowers one ear to Geralt’s chest. She only leaves it there for a moment. “His lungs are filled with phlegm, and he’s too weak to expel it. We need to suction them, and quickly.” This last is directed at the attendant, who nods and scurries out of the room.

While they wait, Nenneke props Geralt up further. Yennefer can see the stress built up in her motions as she arranges the pillows around him. Another two attendants enter the room, and Nenneke snaps, “Fetch pillows, blankets, and hot water, quickly! And clean bandages.”

Geralt coughs, or tries to. Yennefer moves closer to the bed and takes his hand, squeezing it. “He’s drowning in his own fluid,” Nenneke mutters, seemingly to herself. The thought makes Yennefer gag.

The first attendant returns, holding a long tube that must have been magicked to be flexible and a small basin. Nenneke takes them from her and carefully but swiftly inserts the tube into one of Geralt’s nostrils. She puts her mouth around the other end and begins to apply suction. Within moments, the tube fills with reddish phlegm. Yennefer stares at it in fascination. 

The priestess turns her head and spits into the basin. She repeats the process several more times, then moves the tube to the other side.

The door opens again, and Yennefer turns to see Jaskier, standing with a look of horror on his face. She lets go of Geralt’s hands and moves to him.

“His lungs were filled with phlegm,” she repeats quietly. “Nenneke’s helping him clear them.”

“I heard people running in this direction,” Jaskier mutters, face pale. “I was afraid it was for him.”

Yennefer wants to reassure him, tell him everything will be fine, but she can’t tell if Geralt is breathing.

Nenneke extracts the tube, lowers Geralt onto the pillows, and forms a seal over his mouth. Yennefer can almost feel her own horror mixing with Jaskier’s, amplifying it and spreading it through the room. The scene in front of her feels unreal, like she’s watching it in a mirror instead of right in front of her.

Then, Yennefer can hear the sound of raspy breathing again, still bad but much clearer than before. Nenneke stands up, and gestures to the attendants. Without a word, they remove Geralt’s shirt and begin wrapping bandages around it. One of the places what Yennefer recognizes as a heating charm in the center of his chest, and then more bandages are wrapped over that. They put more pillows behind him, and wrap him in a thick jacket and more blankets. Throughout all the maneuvering, Geralt stays still, the only motion the jerky rise and fall of his chest.

Nenneke is washing her hands in another basin. She dries them on a cloth, and turns to Yennefer and Jaskier. “I don’t have to tell you this is a bad turn,” she says bluntly. “The fever has moved to his lungs, and he’s too weak to clear them on his own. We’ll do all we can for him, but you have to prepare yourselves that he might not make it. Most wouldn’t, but Melitele willing, that witcher body of his will pull through.”

The words should send a chill down Yennefer’s spine, but instead she feels numb. Her vision has gone too sharp, too stark, and her feet pressing into the floor seem disconnected from the rest of her.

“What can we do for him,” Jaskier asks, sounding teary.

“Help us keep him calm,” Nenneke says promptly. “And watch over him, as you have been doing. He needs to be kept warm, but the fever can’t be allowed to rise too high. A chill, however, could be deadly. We can give him potions to keep the fever low, and to make him cough. The latter will be very unpleasant for him, but it’s vital to keep his lungs clear. If he stays too weak, we’ll have to repeat this.”

Yennefer nods, and then feels like she’s been nodding for too long. Then she has a thought. “I know a spell for enriching air in places where it’s thin. I don’t know if it would work, but it might help him breathe easier.”

Nenneke gives her a considering look. “That might be very helpful. Would you need any supplies?”

Yennefer lists them off and an attendant is sent for them.

“I had another though,” Jaskier says, sounding far less sure than Yennefer had. “I’ve heard tales of parents and children surviving when they weren’t expected to when they were allowed to be together. So I was wondering if we could move the girls in here.

Nenneke considers that for longer than Yennefer’s suggestion, but then nods.

The cribs are moved in swiftly, and lined up against one wall. They make the small room cramped, but Yennefer thinks it’ll be worth it. She picks one of the girls, the largest and last born, out of her crib and carefully places her on Geralt’s chest. “Look, Geralt,” she whispers. “Our daughter.” He doesn’t stir. His eyes are half shut, and she can see them moving under the lids.

Jaskier sits beside the bed, holding the smallest girl. This strikes Yennefer as an excellent idea, so she goes to the remaining crib and picks up the remaining triplet. The little girl is half asleep, and makes a face when she picks her up. She settles in the other chair. It’s nice to have them all where she can see them, she thinks, and feels a pang of missing Ciri. Word has been sent to their eldest daughter, and Yennefer knows she could portal in any moment, but that’s not the same as having her here now.

“They need names,” she tells Jaskier. He makes a face not unlike the one the baby just had.

“I still want to wait for Geralt.”

“We’ve been waiting for a week. They need names. And what are you planning to do if - “ Yennefer finds she can’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Jaskier understands anyways.

“Then we’ll do our best. But it feels wrong to name our daughters without when he’s right in front of us.”

Yennefer nods, knowing this isn’t something worth fighting over at the moment. 

Geralt groans and shifts a bit, and the baby on his chest squeaks with displeasure. Both of the adults turn their attention to him, Jaskier placing a hand on his forehead and whispering soothing nonsense. Yennefer shifts the baby in her hold to one arm and reaches out for one of Geralt’s hands.

“We’re here,” she promises. “Your family is right here.” 

Geralt seems to settle under the weight of the familiar voices, turning his head to one side and letting out a long sigh. His color has improved, Yennefer notes. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll all be okay.


End file.
